


Red Calenhad

by Ophiel



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Teachers, Drama & Romance, Eventual Relationships, F/M, Gen, Inspired by Real Events, M/M, Minor Iron Bull/Dorian Pavus, Red Lyrium, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-02
Updated: 2017-01-02
Packaged: 2018-09-14 05:51:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9164914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ophiel/pseuds/Ophiel
Summary: Blood, tears, failure, hope, learning how to balance an equation and teaching the young that picking ones nose and putting it in the hair of a classmate was not a good idea - such is the daily life of a teacher. And that was just in the classroom. Throw in Faculty Room politics, pantry gossips and trying to subsist on coffee, Cullen's teaching career was pretty much routine, until the threat of a new and dangerous trend sweeps the school.





	

It happened all too quickly. Cullen had heard the words before, as people recounted their harrowing accidents. It was weird how inadequate those pedantic words were in describing the experience of it all. He opened his eyes slowly. What the devil was he thinking? He was pondering writing cliches in this state? He opened his eyes, his ears ringing as a flower of pain bloomed from his forehead.

“Argh,” he said, and touched his temple, wincing from the pain as he held the steering wheel of his Mustang. Or what was left of his Mustang… Through the cracked windshield, he could see the front of his dark red hood dented in. The hood of the BMW that had front-ended him was dented quite deeply. That was gratifying, in a very petty way. Still, he could feel the heat in his cheeks rising. Mental check - nothing felt broken, he could move all his toes - just a bump on the head on the steering wheel then, Maker be praised. But there were dents. Dents! On a custom part! Not to mention his skull.

A man emerged from the BMW and looked worriedly down at the scratch on his car. Cullen unbuckled his seatbelt the fury rising in him as he opened his front door with some effort.

“Paint scratched, bad, this is bad--” the young man said worriedly, trying to buff the paint with the sleeve of his black suit jacket. He had the look of a man always on the verge of running, like a nervous rabbit.

“ _That’s_ what you’re worried about?” Cullen said, stepping out of his car.

The young man looked up and winced. “What happened to your head?” he asked, still buffing.

“You and your cutting into my lane is what happened!” Cullen snapped.

“Rufus!” he heard from within the black car the young man was hopelessly buffing.

As if a current jolted through him, Rufus straightened and ran to the back seat of the car, completely ignoring Cullen. “Miss Evelyn!” he squeaked, pulling at the door knob, only to find it jammed.

Cullen sighed and walked around the BMW, traffic threading its way around them on the road. The longer they stayed in the middle the more dangerous it was with all the rubberneckers peeking over at their morning drama on the highway, he knew. His head was throbbing, which did nothing to improve his temper. He nudged Rufus out of the way. Cullen couldn’t see beyond the heavily tinted window, but could feel someone pushing from within against the door. He gripped the handle and pulled. The door creaked under the force. From within, he could feel someone pushing against the door in time with him. He set a foot on the side of the car and pulled harder, his muscles straining through the white shirt he wore, whip cords under the cloth. His head was throbbing and this was ridiculous - all of it--

Then the door swung open, nearly throwing him back as swears peppered the air. Cars honked as they drove by, but Cullen ignored them. Stiletto-heeled with a red-soled shoe, the young woman within swore with all the gusto of a drunk sailor as she lowered her leg.

"Miss Evelyn!” Rufus exclaimed and squirmed in front of Cullen. “I’m sorry, Miss Evelyn, he cut in front of me--”

“I did not!” Cullen said.

“Fuck it, Rufus,” the woman said as she emerged from the car, helped by Rufus. She was petite, probably as old as the students Cullen taught. Her wavy hair was a mess, and her black dress with fine white bolero was askew. “I’m going to be late for school because of this,” she grumbled.

“Sorry!” Rufus cried. “I’m sorry! I’ll try the car!” He vanished into the front seat.

“I am still here--” Cullen began.

“I know,” said Evelyn, looking up at him. She barely reached his shoulders when she stood. “I’m sorry about your car, and your head - looks terrible, by the way, bruise shaped like Seheron--” Cullen’s head went to the bruise, and only made the throbbing worse, “--but I really have to get to Calenhad Institute.”

Cullen paused. “The Calenhad Institute of Denerim?” he asked, his anger derailed. “Why?”

“It’s my first day,” she said, reaching into the car to pull out a purse. “Rufus! Start the damn car! Listen, buddy, can I just cut you a cheque?” The engine of her car sputtered weakly.

“It’s not starting, Miss Evelyn,” Rufus said sheepishly.

Evelyn drew a shaking breath. Her hands gripped her purse, clenching the leather. 

Cullen sighed heavily and walked around the stricken BMW to his car. Without shutting the door, he tried the engine. To his complete lack of surprise, the Mustang purred to life. “Hey!” he called. Evelyn could barely see him over the hood of her car. Her head appeared when she stepped on the door frame.

“What?” she snapped ungraciously.

“Calenhad Institute,” he said, shutting the door. “Get in, I can take you there.”

Her eyes lit up. “Serious?”

“By the Maker, yes,” Cullen rolled his eyes. “Do you want to go or not?”

Rufus’s head popped above the roof of the car, looking worried. “Miss Evelyn, I advise against this - we don’t know who he is and-”

“He’s the man who’s going to get me to school on time,” Evelyn said, slinging her purse over her shoulder.

“But--” Rufus began. Evelyn, however, was already striding to Cullen’s car. She opened the passenger side door and got in, shutting the door behind her.

“Gently,” Cullen muttered.

She said nothing, simply buckling her seat belt.

“Miss Evelyn, your father will-” Rufus called over the roof of the car.

Evelyn glared at him throught he windshield, holding out one hand to silence theman. “Not now, Rufus,” she called. “I’ll deal with Daddy later!” She looked at Cullen. “Please drive,” she groaned. “Before Rufus sends out a search party to bring me back.”

“As you wish, my lady,” Cullen murmured and started to pull away. “Get off the road to where it’s safer, kid!” he called to Rufus as they pulled into traffic.

The Mustang still ran as smooth as silk, even if her front was dented. Cullen glanced at the chipped paint, that would take a while to fix - time and money. Still, the engine purred, so that was one success to his DIY garage work. Blackwall would be impressed. Once they were cruising down the road, Evelyn settled back in her seat. She sighed heavily and set her manicured hands on her face. Still, she seemed to be on the edge of her nerves.

He looked ahead. “You alright?” he asked.

“What?” she barked looking at him over her nails.

“You’re stressed.”

“Yes, well, first day of work and some guy totals your car with his dinosaur piece. What am I supposed to feel?”

The air thickened between them, tension practically sparking across the skin. Cullen's jaw clenched as he resolutely stared ahead.

Evelyn averted her eyes, the engine purring over the awkward silence. She leaned her chin on her hand and kept her eyes off him. Cullen was glad for that. He did not want to be rude and silence was the safer option. If she was indeed working at the Institute… Maker that was going to be awkward. The precious little princess was trying his patience.

The tension in the car made the ride feel longer, as Evelyn kept her eyes out the window. Cullen reached down to unlock his phone on the dashboard holder. Soon, Moon River brought welcomed reprieve from the stifling quiet. He saw her glance at the title of the song on his phone. She caught his glance, her blue eyes were large and oddly startled that he was looking at her. “Old songs for the dinosaur piece,” he said.

“I didn’t say that,” she replied tightly, and went back to looking out the window.  

A while later, the Institute came into view. It was a grandiose and stately building, converted from the remains of several grand estates that were hundreds of years old. In times past, the rooms were part of the Eamon estate, hosting parties and soirees. Now they served as classrooms. Ballrooms were converted into gymnasiums, and a bit of Fereldan history was preserved with a new use. The whole site sat on a hill facing the historic Fort Drakon, an imposing guardian and well-known landmark over the city. The students would not arrive for another hour or so, and then the grounds would be filled with children aged six to sixteen. And work would begin, and he could just forget this terrible morning.

He pulled through the gates and onto the long driveway that headed to the more modern main building where the faculty had their offices. As they neared the doors, Evelyn began to gather her things in her handbag. “You can just drop me off at the main doors,” she said.

Cullen drove right by.

“You missed it!” she exclaimed.

“No one goes in by the main doors,” he said evenly. “The faculty offices are closer to parking lot B.”

She froze, looking out the window. “Oh,” she said. Her voice sounded like one looking down into the precipice of a very uncomfortable future. “You work here.”

“Yes, and so do you,” he replied, rubbing it in.

She opted for silence, her cheeks tinged pink. She started to rummage distractedly through her bag instead.

Cullen pulled into his parking spot and killed the engine. He sighed wearily as he unplugged his phone from the car speakers. She held out hers to him then, a number on her screen. He looked at it in puzzlement.

“A mechanic,” she said tersely. “Ours. Just tell them Trevelyan sent you and they’ll… fix your car.”

“I thought I totalled _your_ car,” he pointed out. “Shouldn’t I be paying?”

“Just take the number, for Maker’s sake.”

Cullen decided to be civil nd took the number down on his phone. She stuffed her phone into her purse quickly, seeming eager to get away. She opened the door then, and paused. Evelyn looked over her shoulder at him. “Thanks for the ride,” she mumbled. She set a pristine heel on the asphalt, and paused again. “‘S a nice car you got,” she added and shut the door behind her, hurrying off towards across the lot to the door.

Cullen shook his head and heard his phone buzz with an email. It was from Josephine, the Vice Principal of School Administration. It asked for a list of documents to be submitted for department budgets - which Cullen had done, as the head of mathematics, but it was perfectly fine to submit again. His fingers tapped across the phone as he sat in his car while he forwarded off a quick email to Josie. It would only take a couple of minutes.

A couple of minutes was never enough for emails. He should have known better.

 

+++++

 

The first day of school always rang with possibilities. These were the days that Cullen loved. Students would come in, their uniforms freshly pressed and brand new for the year, their bags and shoes beautifully coordinated according to the school’s uniform rules. Their faces too were strangely comforting to see. The young ones were bright and excited. The older they got, the more apparently serious they became. Bored disdain was apparently in fashion once you were beyond a certain grade. For some students, a long holiday of late mornings clearly showed on their barely awake faces. But Cullen had duties to perform for the assembly, the same duties he always performed - overseeing the students from the AV club who managed the projector and the assembly’s IT, as well as settling his new class for the year. It would help if he were in three places at once, he sighed, rushing out the door with his arms full of text books. He was already late from sitting in the parking lot like an idiot sending emails. Thankfully, he wasn’t late enough to be noticed, just late enough to be rushed.

As he paused by the door to the Faculty Room to adjust his stack of books, a group of girls passed him. “Good morning, Mr Rutherford,” one said, her voice lilting with an Orlesian accent. “Do you need some help?” The other girls with her burst into giggles.

Cullen smiled in return. Maker save him from teenage girls… “In you go, Ms Bonnet,” he said. “We don’t want to be late, now do we?” With a look of disappointment, she and her friends obediently trooped into the hall. His phone in his pocket buzzed with a message. He reached to get his phone, balancing his books on his hip with one arm, only to have the lot of them tumble from his grasp. Swearing silently, a skill of any teacher worth his salt, he bent to pick them up. The door opened behind him and a hand reached down to pick up a book. “Good morning, Mr Rutherford,” squeaked a voice. “You’re looking so handsome to day, by the Maker, tee hee girlish giggle.”

Cullen looked up and sighed. “Dorian,” he said wearily, lifting up his stack of books. “Stop it, it’s too early.”

“And yet, I see it’s already started,” Dorian grinned. Cullen went about with his shirt sleeves rolled up and his black jacket abandoned on the back of his office chair, but Dorian was always immaculate, with his skinny ties and vests and weird sparkling chains hanging from pocket to his tie clip. And more hair gel than even Cullen would be willing to put on - or at least, care to admit that he did.

“Nothing’s started,” Cullen snapped.

“You’re blushing. And what on earth happened to your head? You have a bruise the shape of Seheron!”

Cullen glared at him. “Someone dented the car on the way to work. Hit my head on the steering wheel. The car's fine, just busted up a bit."

"My condolences to your car, obviously more important than the skull."

"It's not dead, thank the Maker." Cullen said. He paused. "And that no one was hurt. Thank the Maker for that too.”

“Same old Cullen,” Dorian sighed mournfully. “I believe you have a computer to turn on - indispensable to the school that you are. Shall I take your books to your seat in the hall for you?”

“That would actually be helpful,” Cullen smiled. “I’m glad our classes are side by side, if only for this.”

“Anything for you, Cullen,” Dorian said, his voice heavy with suggestion.

Cullen sighed again and handed Dorian his books. “And tell Cassandra I’m in the AV room, if she asks,” he added.

“Of course. I shan't tell her you snuck in almost late.” Dorian winked and walked off. 

Cullen shook his head as he climbed the stairs at the back of the hall to the AV room. It was a hideaway of sorts. Being in the Hall meant he had to deal with a thousand matters. But before that, he only had to enter a quiet room and press buttons. And that he did. The room was small, cramped and grew far warmer the more people were in it, but at least it was peaceful for now, since the AV Club students had not reported for duty yet. He unlocked the laptop from its cupboard and turned it on. All he had to do was get the slides up for assembly. The kids would do the rest. From his vantage point high in the back of the hall, he could see the entire space below him. Students were gathering and sitting themselves in neat rows according to their classes. Teachers were busying themselves taking attendance. There was Dorian, striding over with his books, practically sparkling. Miss Penteghast stood at the head of the hall, holding her microphone which she did not need to use. Her job was to maintain discipline in the hall, and everywhere else - a job she was very good at. Her laser-eyed glare silenced chatty pupils with a single look. She was one of several vice principals in the school, and her reputation among the students was one of dread and fear.

He could see Blackwall among the pupils, ticking names off a list. He was a shop teacher, and was one of those for whom flannel never went out of fashion. There was Solas, stern and quiet, in his typical turtleneck and plain jacket. His whole class unsurprisingly studious, with their heads bent over their books as they sat waiting for the assembly to begin. Dorian’s class was having a hard time quieting down, until Cassandra slowly began to walk over to them from her vantage point on the stage. The sight of her seemed to settle the lot.

The most noise seemed to be coming from the youngest class, where the students were nervous on their first day of school. Bull was there, the counsellor who towered over everyone in the entire school, yet whom all the misfits eventually grew to love. He was kneeling beside a young boy who was bawling in tears, his cries echoing through the whole hall. And there beside him, Cullen saw the new teacher, Evelyn. She seemed to be trying to comfort the child along with Bull. Damn, getting compensation for the car was going to be awkward now that they were colleagues.

And then Cullen caught sight of another face. Walking among the students, her chin high like a lord’s, was Vivienne, resident specialist of linguistics. Maker, let this year go by with as little to do with her as possible, Cullen prayed.

All the while, Leliana sat with Josephine at the back of the hall, quietly watching the gathered students and teachers. The Principal was never without her Vice-principal of Administration.

He remembered then that his phone had buzzed earlier. He took it out and read the message that blinked on screen. “I have a feeling I’m going to need a drink or seven after work,” it read.

Cullen smiled to himself. “Having trouble at Eamon College already, Vice-Principal Alistair?” he sent back.

The door opened then, as the AV Club students reported for duty. Cullen had only a moment to glance at his phone as they settled down to get the room up and running. “In this job, promotions are hardly ever a good thing,” Alistair’s message read. “Drinks, Rutherford. Later.”

 

+++++

 

The boy sat alone, the toilet stall door resolutely shut. The school was assembling, he knew. He could hear the sound of the morning prayers to the Maker read, ringing out over the school through the speakers in the hall. He knew he was going to get scolded for being ‘late’ for school, but he wasn’t interested in that now. He set his backpack down on the shut toilet seat and reached inside. His hand closed around a paper bag, which he eagerly ripped open. The faintest of red flows emerged from within. A new vial. Fresh, he’d heard. He heard that the effects were a little overwhelming at first, but at least it… helped. It helped with the stress, the fatigue, the studies. It helped one focus.

It took him only a second to down the contents of the vial, and another thirty minutes to stop the shaking enough for him to emerge from the toilet, ready for class. He made sure to dispose of the vial. He made sure to watch it spin in the cistern as he flushed it away. This was good. This was what he needed. He wouldn’t fail this year.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys, thanks for stopping by. I'd appreciate if you left a little comment of feedback on the piece so I know if it's worth continuing or not. :) Thanks a bunch!


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